


i'll sell my soul to dream you wide awake

by shepherd



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Death, Dragon Age Kink Meme, F/M, I'm Sorry, Reincarnation, but not for long, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-09
Updated: 2014-12-09
Packaged: 2018-02-28 19:50:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2744915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shepherd/pseuds/shepherd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the Dragon Age Kink Meme. A request for a reincarnation story set into the future, where Solas and Lavellan finally achieve their happy ending. Bonus round where Solas can remember her as an immortal being, but as a mortal, she doesn't remember him.</p><p>In other words, Solas is alone, and then he meets the woman with the rare and marvellous spirit once again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i'll sell my soul to dream you wide awake

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Dragon Age fic, so please forgive any massive canonical mistakes. I never actually intended to write fic for this game, but Solas upset me and this prompt was too good to resist.

It had been thirty three years and two months since the defeat of Corypheus, and Solas heard of the death of the Inquisitor when he walked the uneven land of the Free Marches, when the sun began to sink down below ancient trees.

He stood south of Ansburg, at the wide expanse of the Minanter River, and he can’t quite appreciate it’s beauty anymore. He heard the news from a chattering pack of travelling merchants as they passed him by, trundling east under the great bulk of their gear towards Wycome. They had a long way to go yet despite how they moved with haste, and conversation flowed freely. They even openly welcomed him, another pair of capable hands- even those of a stranger, an elf, an apostate mage. _After all,_ they said with soft and wistful smiles, _Her Worship was all of those things at first, and she was an alright sort._

He followed them for a short time. He has little else to do, beside staring into the depths of the running water and wondering what if, what if? He accepted the offer with a practised smile, even as the gnawing sense of loneliness and abandonment grew wider and darker with each second that passed him by.

 _You have no right to feel abandoned,_ a voice that sounds so painfully like her reminded him, _you have no right._

He wandered, vaguely dazed on the path laid out for him, for all of them and said little, choosing to listen instead. Apparently it was one of the only things he was capable of doing without fucking up. Topics ranged along the long road alongside the river that never ceased, from rumours of a nug infestation in the kitchens of Redcliffe Castle- a small girl squeals at the thought- to japes about Lord Someone or Other making a fool of himself in front of half the nobility in Denerim- several adults smile with satisfaction- but Alassë Lavellan never strayed far from their thoughts. They lowered their voices when they spoke of her, a kind of hushed reverence, but never respectful enough to avoid speculation and rumour entirely. Solas listened intently, and found reports of the circumstances of her death to be insufferably vague.

Talk ranged from an assassination attempt that finally succeeded after decades of trying, to a sickness that had plagued her for long years, to simply choking on a bite of her meal. Each companion argued passionately for their belief, and each had insufficient evidence. He found it hard to remain civil to the snickering boy who suggested that the Inquisitor would have choked while breaking bread with her guests, but his father clipped him around the back of the head for his insolence and disrespect and it was pleasing, if not quite satisfying.

The sun completed it’s long journey, red shifting to orange shifting to pink before there was darkness. It was spring, and the days were growing longer again. The scar in the sky still remained, his constant reminder of all of his mistakes, and the consequences they wrought. They made camp some small distance from the river, and all bickering was put aside for a single moment of peace- a toast for the passing of Her Holiness. They raised their cups to the wounded sky in silence, deep in thought until one human woman who looked old enough to be merely a child when the Breach tore the sky asunder murmured, “She is with the Maker now.” Most muttered their agreement, and all drank, and Solas couldn’t laugh in the face of her ignorance even if he wanted to.

The night grew older. Chatter died. Leaves rustled above, and birds were silent. The merchants retired quickly, exhausted at the hard pace they had set for themselves. One man in the autumn of his life sat on the edges of their camp on the upturned roots of what had once been and proud tree. Others slumbered easily, and while his eyes rested, Solas did not sleep. It was quiet, peaceful, and there was nothing to keep him from his thoughts.

He thought of her, everywhere. When he felt the cold bite of the Ferelden air, he thought of her atop the battlements of Skyhold, snow melting against her hair. When he glanced skyward, he thought of her wrist in his hand, the first rift rippling before their eyes. When he looked into the face of another Dalish, their faces scarred with something they didn’t and couldn’t understand, he thought of her eyes wet with tears that refused to fall. Every time, he wanted nothing more than to see her again, and now the chance had been torn from him through an assassin's blade or a lingering disease. He found he didn’t care which.

He thought of her, and not for the first time, it hurt.

She would return, with time. Solas knew that. As a whole new physical being, she would tread the same ground as her past self’s armies did, unaware of her power, of the history she had once carved to her liking. She may have faded in this one moment, and would never return quite the same, but he knew she would linger forever. Alassë would grin and cry and sleep and stub her toes and have her heart touched by another, blissfully ignorant of him all the while, and life would go on. Her ancient soul would go on for eternity. Time would embrace her, and then crush her, and then the cycle would begin anew. It would be the same for the rest of the Inquisition, but they would not necessarily meet her again. They would be scattered across Thedas, separate pieces of a faded puzzle that no longer fit together. But Solas knew he would hear of her again- Alassë had done remarkable things, and he had every confidence that she would do them again in new skin with a new name, without him by her side.

In another life, he had said, he had promised, and that was another oath he supposed he would break like the liar, the traitor he was.

The earth of the Free Marches was not as hard as the frozen soil of Ferelden, but he still squirmed, unable to find a comfortable position. He felt unsettled in his own skin, stretched a little too tight. He lifted his eyes to the treetops, letting out a long breath. He had sapped his strength from her. While he could not be at her side, and didn’t dare to tread the same ground as her in the Fade, he took comfort in the tales of her exploits that regularly reached his ears. He liked to imagine living them with her, no longer hiding away in his study in self imposed exile until she sought him out. Retrospect was a time for regret, and he wished he had stood proudly by her side, in full view of the entire Inquisition, consequences be damned. Now he lay here alone, and there was nothing to do but to keep on.

Sleep did not come to him that night, and the sunrise came too soon for the new day, but he had already made up his mind. Solas parted from his companions the following morning with only the briefest of farewells and the laziest of excuses- the same stinging insult he had given her- and left with no set destination, and it marked the beginning of many long, lonely years.

Time passed by slowly, trickling past unbearably like blood from an open wound. He walked for a long time, until the furious rushing river blocked off his path. The bridge was much further down, when the rapids slowed to a safer speed. He came to a sluggish stop, his bare feet sinking into the wet mud of the bank, and it reminded him rather unsurprisingly of her.

Dorian had waded through the shallows of a river once, his face distinctly unimpressed as he shouted something unflattering towards Varric and Alassë, both bent over and deftly stripping a bandit of the worldly possessions he no longer needed. Alassë had snickered, and Varric had cheerfully returned the favour alongside a rude gesture, and standing back on the bank Solas had said nothing, only watching. He only ever watched, never properly taking advantage of being with her while he still could, and now that time had passed.

A small bird landed with the flutter of tawny feathers on the other side of the bank, and hopped on it’s feet like the ground was hot, pecking agitatedly at the ground. Solas stared at it a while, until after a minute, it flew away. It disappeared into the distance. Gone.

 _Until you return to me, ma vhenan,_ he wanted to say, but the words stuck to his tongue, black with well meaning lies. “Until you return to your people, lethallan. We will not meet again.” He said instead. He stared down into the water.

Time marches on.

 

\----

 

There was little to keep him from the Fade, now the world was that little bit emptier, darker. He had always avoided Alassë’s lingering shadows, the long arm of her law, and lost himself in memories of old battles and fled from her as best he could. She had never once chased him, and he was almost grateful- the great wolf would never lie quivering at the heel of one of the People.

Now the Fade was empty of her. She had passed through it on her way to her new life, and Solas did not expect to ever meet her again. There was no trace of her presence, no evidence that she had ever walked these winding paths. He didn’t know how to feel about that. It made him feel less like a hunted beast, but he would rather have felt trapped than alone.

With Alassë gone and Cassandra’s own death a decade past, it was only a matter of time before the Inquisition crumbled. The stable legs had been abruptly kicked out from under it’s great weight., and within a year the Inquisition was a shadow, a sliver of what it used to be. Within another, it had collapsed entirely, and the few who remained had scattered across Thedas. Within twenty, it had practically passed into legend, and he found that Skyhold stood abandoned. Only rats and spiders remained.

 _How quickly people forget,_ Solas thought distantly as he walked up the familiar stairs, through the throne room, sunlight streaming through the shattered window. He blew cobwebs off of the barrels left in the tavern, sat in the aged throne that still remained, touched the cracked and faded walls of his study. The castle had aged, and he had not. It looked how it did when he lead the Inquisition to it- unloved and forgotten, unfit for occupation. He stayed anyway, and slept for a long time, nestled up in Leliana’s rookery. He was a voyeur to his own memories.

He saw Alassë’s face. He saw her wander as if aimlessly between her companions, one morning sipping tea with Josephine, the afternoon playfully sparring with Blackwall and the evening drinking heavily with the Iron Bull because no one drank casually with him. She sat on the roof with Sera, bickered good naturedly with Cassandra, and argued passionately with Vivienne. Her days were busy, crammed with missions and favours for friends- but she visited him every day, sat with him quietly sometimes, and always saved her nights for him.

He watched it go by in a blur, _not enough time, not enough with her_. He watched the highs and the lows, the failures and the victories, and it all goes too fast.

Solas tried to get over her, and it make everything worse. It is like losing a limb, a phantom ache. _All this over a woman,_ he thought mirthlessly in one of his rare moments of awakeness, but he knew he would never be this in love with just any woman. Sometimes, anger rose to his chest, and there ends up being a crack in the plaster of his study wall the size of his fist, but he still can’t let her go. He ranted and he raved to himself at times, his voice echoing in the towers, and he still couldn’t cut her out.

Years go by in recollection and slumber. He had a duty, he remembered, he made a promise, but it was difficult to recall when his days were spent in a half remembered daze, in memories long past. He lingered in them, and it grew more and more difficult to pull himself away.

Then he dared one day to tread in one of their youngest memories, sharp and intense with emotion. He had avoided this particular one for some reason he found it difficult to recall- fear, perhaps, or shame. Either felt equally likely, but he either felt brave or particularly foolish this time.

He held her hand loosely in his, and he wished he had gripped tight and never let go. They smiled at each other like there was nothing else, and the sight of the vallaslin stung. It vaguely reminded him of the People- his duty, but he pushed it aside temporarily in favour of her. He basked in it for precious few moments.

The world around them shifted as he pulled away from her touch, shadows deepening, lights becoming sharper, blindingly bright. Alassë instinctively reached for him, expression falling and her fingers meeting nothing. Her face was bare.

“I love you.” She told him, her chin held high, but her lips were thin and voice thick. The other him looked down at her and he remembered the way his dead heart was breaking. He backed away, and she never attempted to follow.

 _In another world._ The desperation tasted strong and sharp, like blood, and her expression became tortured, multiple emotions all battling for dominance on her face, and he remembered how rage had won out. He didn’t need the reminder.

_Please, vhenan._

Solas woke up with a start, alone on the cold and hard floor. A cold wind made him shiver, gooseflesh rising on his bare arms. He took a moment for the real world to embrace him again, and he let out an unsteady breath.

 _In another world,_ he had said.

He stretched his legs, feeling his sore and tense muscles ache in complaint, and his bones click back into place. It wasn’t possible for him to feel all the years that made his past, but if it were, he suspected it would feel like this. Sitting up, he pulled the fur of his cloak around his tightly, and breathed slowly, disassociating himself from the memories. After years of experience, the process became a habit, but it was taking longer again to create the distinction between here and the Beyond.

Solas smoothed his hand across his face, still quivering. It wasn’t unbearably cold anymore, but he trembled despite it. He tried to ignore the lingering feeling of shame, but he couldn’t ignore the feeling of patheticness- the People needed him, had done for years, and he lay alone in the cold dreaming of a dead woman he likely would never meet again.

It needed to stop.

It took him a few days to build up the courage and the strength. He had slept for too long, and he trained himself to stop thinking of her as now- she was then, and that would likely not change. He gave himself a few days of remembering her the way she had been, the way he left her, and then he was as ready as he would ever be.

He left Skyhold on a winter morning, and despite his efforts it was like abandoning her all over again. He squared his shoulders and quickened his pace, never looking back once, even when the hills and snow beneath his feet had turned into dry, flat earth.

After all, he had a promise to keep, and the People needed his aid.

Time marches on.

 

\------

 

A thousand years pass. His work is never done.

The People grow and flourish under his care, wilting flowers exposed to water. They live in the closest to peace Solas would wager they would ever achieve, for longer than they used to, and they die when their time comes. Life continues and the wheel trundles on. Everything is different, and yet the same. Magic is, mostly, used for good. The Qunari remain mysterious, despite all tentative attempts at contact. The complicated dance of politics spins on throughout the years, losing and gaining new people with each turn, the pace of the music shifting and flowing anew. Ages slip by before his eyes, and the Dragon Age is long departed. His memory of that time is an old scar- it still aches, but it is as healed as it will ever be. It is his own personal version of the scar still in the sky, his own reminder of all he had done, all his mistakes.

His work is not yet done, and it will never be done.

She is never far from his thoughts. She never appears.

New ways of contact and methods of travel begin to become commonplace, and some lament the loss of the ‘old ways’. They are rightly labelled as fools- the old ways never left. Eluvians are reactivated, and used as methods of communication or transport- only, of course, by those who can afford it. The Grey Wardens remain, but now free from the curse of the Taint after the efforts of people across the ages who Solas dimly recognises as the multiple reincarnations of the Hero of Ferelden. Magic is still used for healing, even when the ways of science became an accepted form of treatment. Solas hears the complaints of those who cling to the past, and smiles. The People often lament that they are still not close to their past glory of the ancient elves, the immortality and their great knowledge, and Solas only smiles wider.

Time marches on.

 

\-------

 

Faint whispers of a rebellion begin to fly, to stir the nobility, and one day Solas found himself right in the middle of it.

Anxiety was rife across the nation, voices muttering and nerves bubbling, and it excited him. The seed of paranoia had been planted, and he was most interested to see how it would grow. He loved to see the course of history change before his eyes, a rock parting the stream of the river, and he wondered if this would be it- something that changed the nature of Orlais forever. It had changed much since the years of the Inquisition, but the only clear and true change was physically. The buildings towered above him, stuffed with masses of people after the population shot up, and there were all sorts of people making their way through the bustling streets. Val Royeaux remained its capital city, but it was only just the largest in Orlais. More and more towns had cropped up nearby, allowing free travel and trade, and it had only grown richer, in wealth and diversity.

Despite all of the change, in it’s structure and politics it had remained the same. The Great Game as he once knew it was still played, but it was much more subtle. Solas would have described it as tasteful if he thought Orlesians were capable of such a thing. It wasn’t a thing to be discussed openly, in polite company, and while nobles still threw balls they weren’t so overwhelmingly lavish, and  chances of their being an assassin amongst the crowd was much lower than it used to be. It was one of the things Solas sorely missed.

Val Royeaux still moved like clockwork, sleek and smooth and perfect from the outside, but much less stunning in the inside, the ugly machinery meshing together with the possibility of falling apart at any moment. That was what the discontent was all about- the lives of the little people, still much less important than the lives of others. Sera would have been rolling in her grave, he thought, and her reincarnated self didn’t even bear thinking about. Solas did know the circumstances that led to it, a multitude of factors creating the tension, but he didn’t know about what particular incident was the catalyst. He supposed he would learn about it once he arrived.

He had arrived in the city days before it was planned to begin, and kept to the sidelines and the shadows, listening for more information. His anticipation grew the more he heard about it- there was going to be a march around the main streets of the city, curling around the busiest parts before ending with a demonstration outside the palace.

He wondered if there was going to be blood. He hoped so. It always livened things up a little.

The day came too slowly for his liking. He rose early and emerged from the streets bright eyed and grinning while others blinked sluggishly, looking lost, clutching cups of disgusting coffee or energy drinks. He moved through the city with ease as the people prepared for the day, making their way to their jobs and rubbing their tired eyes. He navigated the side streets, taking in the sight of people who seemed to be completely unaware of the plans for that day with a feeling of pride on their behalf. They were going to witness history in the making, today, and they didn’t even know.

Except they didn’t.

There was no rebellion, revolution, or even a riot. There was a protest, a huge gathering of people that entered the city around noon and committed themselves to their plan of walking around the city, and they called out slogans, handed out papers, held banners aloft. It was a march, and while there was nothing wrong with that Solas found himself quickly bored. The air had been tense, and Orlesians mostly scurried to stay out of their way and watched the guards with hopeful eyes, but there was no bickering, no fights, and by the look of things, very little progress made. They were surprisingly mild mannered, for what could have easily become a mob. The guards remained aware, hyper aware of the crowd, but made no action.

He followed them all a while, blending into the thick crowd with ease. A vast majority of the crowd were elves, a few of them human, and listening, he noted it was a march to do with elves. No wonder some of the older Orlesians look scandalized- even with the passing of time and the gradual acceptance, some people clung to tradition like they would be lost at sea without it. They were not so welcoming, but it was rare to hear the slur ‘knife ear’ these days.

A little disappointed and deciding enough is enough, he turned on his heel to disappear into one of the winding alleyways that had been created with the addition of buildings- and he slammed directly into another. He recoiled with a start, caught off guard, but he remained on his feet. The other fell backwards and sprawled to the ground with a loud yelp, the papers she held fluttering all across the floor and her bag thumping to the ground.

Immediately, he dropped to one knee and began to gather them up into a pile. “I’m sorry,” He apologised honestly, even though it wasn’t entirely his fault. He grabbed them all before the staring people who surrounded them could tread them into the dirt. “Are you alright?”

The woman he had knocked over groaned quietly, and sat up. “Yeah, I think so.”

He nearly dropped the papers. Her voice was young and intimately familiar, and there was a peculiar sensation deep in his belly, a mix of horror and surprise and delight that he never thought he would feel again. His head shot up, and he took her in with wide eyes.

Alassë didn’t look up. She glanced at her palms, grazed and covered in scratches and dirt. She didn’t look too impressed about being knocked off her feet, but she rubbed smears of filth off of her hands, huffing a little. She looked almost exactly the same- her hair was still thick and dark, tied back against her head. Her face was much less angular, more rounded, and was clear of the vallaslin. It was a difficult choice for elves to make- the People had been made aware of the true origins many years back at his hand, and it was now a personal choice for them to either reject it or embrace something they felt they had reclaimed. Many times, Solas had received abuse from those who had chosen it for his blank skin. It was brave of her, he thought. Her eyes were still the exact same green, and the familiar sight of her made him ache.

He considered the chances of it all- for the two of them to be in the exact same place in the exact same time, for him to turn and walk directly into her, and they were slim to none. It was cringeworthy, he knew, but he wondered if there was something else, something bigger, something that drew them together. _I let you go,_ he thought a little helplessly, _and now you’re here._

Then, he realised he had helped gather up her papers while she still sat on the ground in the dirt. _What a charming man,_ she probably thought.

He shifted the papers to one hand, balancing them on his hip. “I’m so sorry, please, let me…” He reached out for her, holding out a friendly hand.

She looked up at him with a small frown, her eyes still the same seaglass green, and after a pause, accepted. The feeling of her warm hand in his and the sight of her dark skin compared to his brought back memories that he could not bear repeating. It was the first physical contact he had had with another person for a long time, and he refused to acknowledge the spark that ran through him at the touch. “Thank you.” She said as he pulled her to her feet. “I’m sorry I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going.”

“No, it wasn’t your fault. I walked into you.” He gazed at her face, taking it all in while he could. He felt like he had been knocked from reality, like he had wandered into a lie, and her presence was the best thing he had felt in years. “Sorry.”

An awkward silence fell between them, the kind that lingered between people who were acquaintances more than friends, and she shifted where she stood. She peeked at him, as if shy- and then stared.

“You don’t have the vallaslin,” She noted, staring directly at his forehead. Solas arched his eyebrows.

“Neither do you.”

She smiled, a sight that made his heart hurt, and she nodded down at the pile he still clutched. He dimly realized how tightly he was holding them when he saw the fingermarks and the creases, and loosened his grasp with an apologetic noise. “That’s what I’m about.”

He didn’t understand at first, but then he focused on the text. The papers scattered were presumably for the protest, some kind of brief manifesto for the rights of elves, to do with the vallaslin. _END THE FORCED MARKS,_ it declared in bold writing. “Oh?”

“Young elves across Thedas, especially in Orlais are being forced by their parents or guardians to receive the vallaslin,” She spoke the word with distaste. “It should be a choice they make when they’re older, but they’re having beliefs- inaccurate beliefs, at that- forced upon them. It isn’t right.”

He passed her back her papers, but claimed one for himself, and quickly skim read the page. It was well written, kept short enough to hold attention but full of information and statistics about these elves that told him that she knew what she was talking about. She must have been shoving them at people, educating anyone who would listen. That was her, he supposed. Doing things her own little way. It wasn’t exactly leading an Inquisition, but it was a start.

“Thank you,” He looked back up at her, finding her still staring, this time at his cheeks. “This is very interesting.”

“Tell your friends.” She reminded him. “This kind of information needs to be spread around. It can’t be kept quiet.”

“I will.”

The silence returned, and Solas became distantly aware that the large group was moving on, slipping away to continue to the next part of the city. She noticed it too, looking back at alarm at the dispersing group. Alassë smiled at him, politely, dismissively, and bowed her head. “Excuse me. Have a good day, sir.” She moved to walk around him.

Panic fluttered in his stomach, and before he had the chance to think about it, he stepped back in her path. “Wait!”

She barely stopped herself from walking back into him, and looked at him with guarded eyes, the way she would have looked at a stranger. He knew it would happen, but he didn’t expect it to hurt.

“Can you tell me more about this?”

Her expression was one of surprise. “You want to know more?” She spoke slowly, staring at him like he had just declared his undying love for her, and _also, by the way, I’m Fen’Harel and your ex lover you helped save the world with,_ and he nodded, smiling. His cheeks were beginning to ache with the regularity of it.

“I’d love to know more.”

Her returning grin was hesitant, and for the first time he was made aware of dimples, little marks in her cheeks. It was endearing, and something she hadn’t had before. It was difficult for him to remember that she wasn’t the exact same woman- she was physically and mentally new, with a few differences to her past self, and he would not be able to expect what she was going to do or say as well as he would of a thousand years ago. But he looked at her, he looked at her intensely, and he wanted nothing more than to keep making her smile.

“You can walk with us, if you want.” She gestured widely to the quickly disappearing crowd, leaving several startled looking Orlesians clutching other papers in their wake. It was almost comical. “We’re gonna be doing it all day, but anyone’s welcome, and you can learn a lot.”

 _You have no right,_ he remembered, he remembered it vividly- but he wanted her, more than he had ever wanted anything. _In another life,_ he had said, and he could think of nothing more different and alien and perfect than this moment right here.

“I’d love to join you.” He said, and Alassë beamed at him, and he wondered if the loneliness was finally at an end.

 

\------

 

Solas followed her around the city until the sun began to fall in the sky, casting great shadows of the buildings along the floor, and most of the crowd as long gone. They had lost stragglers throughout the day, those who had gotten bored or tired, and few remained to do their duty. Solas had remained by her side all day, and he could think of nowhere else he would rather be.

Alassë was laughing, and she had been most of the day. They had talked of nothing but the march at first- who had organized it, what they intended, why she was there. Her face remained emotionally detached as she told him of the experiences of her clan, the abuse they had received from one of the only anti-Dalish groups that lingered, and the horror stories she had heard of young Dalish from other clans who had suffered at the hands of their own people in the name of tradition. She had to do something, she told him, and her eyes were as hard as polished stone, and in that moment he was sure he would never love another.

By the end of an hour, her smiles came more frequently, and she even playfully shoved him when he made a frankly ridiculous joke. They stopped speaking about such serious subjects although they still stopped to hand out manifestos together, moving onto lighter topics and by the end of it, they were trading gossip and jokes, and Solas was sharing old anecdotes that she had heard a hundred times before in another life. She was just as fascinated now and she was back then.

Conversation flowed freely, and their banter seemed so natural, and Solas tried not to smile when she wondered if they had met before, as they bounced off each other so well? He replied that if he had ever met as woman as wonderful as her, he never would have left, and she tried to cover up her embarrassment with her papers.

She had been a pleasant warmth at his side as the evening progressed, and however temporary it may still be, his heart was quietly at peace.

The march had ended, and her hands were almost empty. People wandered the emptying streets, faces glowing with pride, and the feeling of accomplishment was something to bask in. But for them, their evening was not yet done, and they continued, standing in the middle of the street and not paying much attention to anything else. Stars could have fallen from the sky, and he likely wouldn’t have noticed.

He had barely realised how much he had missed it, missed her.

She made a biting comment about Orlesians, something that made him bark out a laugh- and suddenly, another laugh entered the mix, and it was deep and undeniably masculine. “Helin, don’t tell me you made a friend in your incessant rambling today?”

Alassë’s laughter immediately stopped, and she turned, only to cry out with delight and throw herself at the newcomer, an approaching man with dark hair and a confident, lazy smirk. Solas would recognise it anywhere, and he watched as Alassë- or Helin, apparently- and Dorian embraced with the familiarity of close friendship.

The presence of two of his old companions made him feel practically _giddy,_ lifting the burden of his loneliness. It was self exile, he knew, but he didn’t want to be around anyone else but the Inquisition, and he had caused all of their troubles and abandoned them himself.

_You have no right._

He pushed the thought to the back of his mind, where it distantly echoed, and he knew it would until the end of days. But the two were still talking, matching grins, and then Dorian was addressing him.

“Have you been dragging this poor bastard around all day?” His expression was sympathetic. “Poor you, walking around with this mad lot.”

“It was no trouble at all.” He interjected before Alassë could speak, and mischief overtook him. “It was a pleasure having an intelligent conversations with a beautiful lady all day.” He said, in the voice that used to drive her crazy- seductively low, with enough volume to remain sufficient for polite company. He remembered how once he had called to her in that voice from his study from where she stood with Fiona, and she had thrown a book down at him from above.

Alassë flushed, a vibrant colour, and Dorian snorted and laughed like it was the best thing he had heard all day. It was the most ungraceful sound Solas ever made him make, and he wondered if his words were going to be used to embarrass her mercilessly for years to come.

“Well, isn’t he charming?”

“I swear a few hours in we were talking about the best way to skin a nug,” She giggled in a nervous manner, looking pleased despite everything. “I don’t think that can be classed as intelligent.”

“Take a compliment, my dear.” Dorian advised her, and his sly grin was directed at Solas. “Even when it does come from someone who looks like he’s crawled out of a Ferelden charity shop.”

That was the Dorian he knew, and he chuckled, especially when Alassë made an outraged noise and introduced his ribs to her elbow. They had been fast friends only hours after they had first met, and it pleased and saddened him in equal measure that they had found each other again, while he walked alone. “I’m so sorry about him.”

“I’ve heard worse.”

“I haven’t seen worse.” He grumbled, rubbing the skin, and he yelped when she stepped even lightly on his foot. “This is abuse. I knew it. You’ve secretly hated me all along, haven’t you?”

“Yes,” She admitted. “Now go away, and bully someone else. I’ll catch you later.”

He did, drifting away with one final overdramatic sniffle,  a playful wink and one last “ _we’ll meet again, I’m sure”_ , and soon they were alone again. Solas found he missed him almost immediately, but he could argue with being alone with Alassë once more.

“I’m sorry about him.” She emphasized, and Solas almost waved it away, but she had a look in her eye, and she continued, “Even if he is right.”

Affronted, Solas playfully pretended to recoil. “Excuse me? I have never been more insulted in all my life. I think this is the height of fashion.”

“Please, you’re standing in Orlais.” Her voice was droll, and she spread out her arms, tilting her body as if presenting herself. “Even I knew to dress up. You’re just standing there in what looks like a skinned nug.”

 _What is it with you and nugs_ , he nearly asked, _you hated the things when we first met._ “Well, I must remove myself from the street as a public service- I wouldn’t want to blind any good Orlesians, would I?”

Solas expected her to laugh. Even if it was a terrible joke, she seemed polite enough to do so for his benefit, but instead she ducked her head, turning abruptly shy. “Where would you go?”

He hesitated. “I have a room across the city. I don’t live here, and I wasn’t planning to stay for long.”

“Well, if you’re not in a rush back, not leaving soon we could…. go and get a drink?” She asked, and there was nothing Solas hated more than Orlesian bars, but she looked hopeful, and right now, he wouldn’t be able to deny her anything. He would give her the entire world, and concerningly, it was in his power to give.

“I’d love to, if I were to stay with you.”

The smile that bloomed on her face was heartbreakingly genuine, and he couldn’t help but return it. He imagined he looked a sight- a lovesick fool, lost in the presence of someone he thought had slipped from his grasp long ago.

“Come on,” She reached for him, not grabbing his hand but curling her fingers around his wrist. Her touch was hesitant, but she grew bolder as the evening went on. “Come with me.”

Solas did, letting her drag him around with no complaint. He spent the rest of her life following at her heels.

Time marched on.

**Author's Note:**

> Bless you.
> 
> I have a tumblr at grankiltias, if you can stand me after this.


End file.
